They could have loved. But that never happened. Her memories and her very identity were gone. Now, it will take love to remember. But how can you love when you can't remember?


The sirens were the first thing I heard, panic the first I saw. It was utter confusion. Pavement underneath me, shoes next to me, too much to take in all at once. I thought someone said something to me, but I couldn't be sure. Pain shot through my body as I was lifted into an ambulance, and darkness enveloped me once again.

I woke once more in a brightly lit hospital room. A nurse smiled at me.

"You gave us quite a scare, hun," She remarked. "You feelin' okay?" I nodded. "What's your name?" she asked. What was my name? Wait, isn't it a bad thing when one forgets their own name? For that matter, I couldn't remember anything. I got the feeling that I shouldn't even be here, and that this human was not my kin, nor any people similar to her.

She looked concerned when I didn't have an answer. She picked up a small device and talked into it. "Uh, Dr. Swank, she doesn't know her own name. Isn't that a bit of a problem?"

I shifted under the soft blankets. I watched as a lock of straight, chocolate brown hair fell over her eyes of approximately the same color. A sound came out of the device, but she was on the other side of the room. I could tell it was a voice, but I could make out no words. She smiled at me.

"Your doctor will be here in just a moment." The door swung open, and the man I assumed to be Dr. Swank walked in. He was wearing a white lab coat with a blue shirt and blue pants, and was holding a clipboard. He had short blond hair and light blue eyes that were filled with mischief.

"Hello," he said politely. "So it appears you have a bit of amnesia." I nodded. "Is there anything you can remember?" I shook my head. I would have replied verbally, but my throat was dry. Thankfully, he set a glass of water down on the table next to my bed. I drank it all.

"What happened?" I asked.

"I was hoping you could tell me," said Dr. Swank. "Someone found you lying wounded in an alley. You seriously can't remember anything?" I scoured my brain for clues. Could I remember? I searched the shattered fragments of my mind. Just as I was about to say I couldn't, something forced its way out of the murky puddle that was my memories.

"Rose," I blurted. "I think...I think my name is Rose." beamed, clearly pleased that we had somehow already made progress. He scribbled something at the top of his clipboard. He pondered something, then wrote again, further down the page.

"Well, Rose," he said, "I bet you're hungry. You should get something to eat, along with some more rest, and I will see you again soon!" He walked out of the room, and the nurse came over with a tray. It had chicken, jello, juice, and a little piece of pie. I wolfed it all down. Before I knew it, I was asleep again.

Days went by, until one day, my nurse came in and announced that they were going to try some exercises to see if I could jog my memory a bit. We went into a room where a therapist did a bunch of stuff including an exercise where you have do visualize certain things and blah, blah, blah... Anyhow, they didn't work a bit. I went back to my room and was told we would try tomorrow.

This went on for a few more days. They had put things around on the internet, looking for a parent or legal guardian. No one showed up. It was determined that I was about 16 years old, and, of course, I couldn't remember this fact either. Between days, I had vivid dreams, but I couldn't remember any of them once I woke up. I sensed they were very important, but my brain obviously didn't think that, as they had always vanished from memory by morning.

Eventually, I was put into a foster home after I had become well enough to leave the hospital. The peoples' names were Mary and Robert Phillips, and they had one child named Elise. Mrs. Phillips had straight blond hair, while Mr. Phillips had a brown crew cut, and both had emerald green eyes. Elise had a blond pixie cut and the same eyes as her parents. I guessed her to be around 13 years old.

"Hi there!" Mrs. Phillips greeted, shaking my hand. The other two did the same. They all seemed to have just the slightest hint of a British accent. We were at their house, a spacious condominium in Florida, right next to the beach. "Make yourself right at home," continued Mrs. Phillips, "there's clothes in the closet, a toothbrush by the sink for you, and if you need anything, just ask!" She seemed very happy to have me staying with them. I headed to the back room, where, as promised, there was a closet and a sink complete with a toothbrush and toothpaste. After brushing my teeth, I got dressed. I picked a simple blue knee-length dress and purple Vans with black laces. I studied myself in the mirror. I was average size, maybe a little tall, and I looked healthy enough. Short red curls framed a pale face, and sapphire blue eyes stared back at me. I walked away, ready to see what he world had in store.

As it turned out, the world of Florida had a lot of seafood in store. I had shrimp Alfredo for dinner, and the family ended up talking more than eating. Over the next few weeks, I would figure out that this was an extremely talkative family. They talked about work, school, the weather, favorite TV shows, you name it. I talked a lot less than they did, but they made up for it. We went shopping, swimming, surfing, building sandcastles, and a bunch of other fun Florida stuff, and I started to enjoy living with the family. Elise and I became good friends, and I would start school in a week, as this just happened to be near the end of summer vacation.

Just my luck, it all fell apart when death broke down our door.